A Waiting Game
by phantomrider2597
Summary: Wendy has been waiting for Peter to come back as he promised for over two years... So what will have changed in that time when he decides to make good on his word? Rated M for future chapters.
1. Windows

Chapter One

_I do not own any part of the novel 'Peter Pan' by J.M Barrie and the following sequence is entirely imaginary._

A Waiting Game

_Wendy's POV_

"Wendy – Wendy! Wake up sweetheart!"

Wendy's blue eyes blinked open slowly, blearily. She swept back a lock of her blond brown hair which had fallen into her eyes as she slept. She stood unsteadily at her mother's direction, and was steered by Mrs. Darling into her own warm bed.

"No, mother... Please don't – I must stay by the window!" she pleaded with wide eyes and clasped hands. Mrs. Darling sighed and shook her head gently as she forced her only daughter to settle into her bed; this episode had been repeated a few hundred times... Every night in fact. Each and every night, when Mrs. Darling would come up to the nursery to check all the lights were out and all her children (born by her or adopted) were sleeping soundly, she would find Wendy asleep on the window seat, her head propped against her arms on the sill.

"My darling, we can't have the window open in the middle of January. You'll catch a chill, you know that," she told her daughter, as she did every night, merely changing the month as required. She pulled the blanket up around Wendy's pale chin, tenderly brushing her fingertips over her daughter's smooth cheek.

"But – He'll come back! He promised..." Wendy yawned, her eyelids drooping tiredly.

Mrs. Darling couldn't prevent the sad smile which touched her face. Her face tinged with heartbreak on her daughter's behalf, and she knew Mr. Darling had lost patience with Wendy around a year ago... Her daughter had taken to haunting the window when she had returned from her adventures just over two years ago. In Mr. Darling's mind, almost 15 was too old to still be in the nursery, especially as he now thought of her as very – yet endearingly - obsessive.

Even she thought Wendy was too old to believe in the fairy stories she had concocted as a young child, really; fairies, pirates, flying. Peter Pan. After all, even the boys had given up that silly fantasy. But Wendy was like a dog with a bone... She just wouldn't let it go, give him up. Mrs. Darling shut the window, and left the room.

Wendy's eyes shot open, as she cautiously sat up in bed. The lights were all out and there was no noise in the house after Mrs. Darling had shut her own bedroom door; she tossed off the blankets and swung her legs out of the bed. She tiptoed across the room and quietly unlatched the window, throwing it wide open. The freezing January chill hit her while she looked up at the stars, one star in particular – second star to the left, straight on till morning. He would come back to her, he would. She positioned her arms on the sill and set her head on top of them; her cheek pressed tightly into her nightgown. He **would** come back... He promised.


	2. Over the Breakfast Table

Chapter Two – Over the Breakfast Table

_I do not own any part of the novel 'Peter Pan' by J.M Barrie and the following sequence is entirely imaginary._

A Waiting Game

_Wendy's POV_

Breakfast held no appeal to Wendy that morning. She used her fork to push the slices of meat and cheese on her plate around, toying with them idly. She sat straight backed in her chair at the long dining room table, wishing she were somewhere else. Her father looked incredibly old to her, sitting at the head of the table talking to the boys and her mother wouldn't meet her eyes. She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin before placing the scrap of material on the table and pushing back her chair. She stood, drawing the attention of her family.

"If you'll excuse me," she muttered, turning as she said it to prevent anyone from stopping her. The rest of the people around the table glanced at each other in silence. As Wendy shut the door, Mr. Darling tossed down his cutlery.

"This can't go on – it's ridiculous! She'll 15 in six weeks and still believe in fairy stories. She needs her own room too; In fact, let's move her tonight." His words were directed at Mrs. Darling, who nodded. Even though she knew Wendy wouldn't like it, it needed to be done, sooner or later.

Wendy's tears dripped silently down her cheeks as she gathered the last of her books together in her arms; the last of her belongings from the nursery. She trudged slowly down the corridor to the opposite end of the house – Peter would never find her in this bedroom. It was tastefully decorated in shades of blue, with a view over the garden, but it didn't feel like hers. The clothes in the wardrobe were hers, the books on the shelves were hers and the writing paper on the desk had her name on it, but it didn't feel right. Didn't feel like hers.

She sat on the edge of the bed and watched the sun set out her west facing window. The books slipped from her arms and tumbled into a haphazard heap on the floor; she didn't move to pick them up, but wrapped her arms around herself in a hug. She pulled her hair out from its low bun, and let her dark honey curls spill over her shoulders – the family had already eaten dinner, so she needn't make another appearance tonight. She stripped off her day dress, letting it fall in a pile to the floor and slipped into her nightdress – at least that felt comforting, familiar. She walked to the window and unlatched it. She pushed it gently open, leaning out into the evening air. Her tears had stopped falling, but she knew her father would be relentless. He would send her to boarding school if he thought it would break her out of her "silly little fantasy land."

She laid her tear stained face tiredly atop her arms. Her head ached and she wondered whether for once she'd get a good night sleep. Her eyes closed, her lashes fluttering against her skin. She didn't even have the energy to yawn before she dropped off into a dreamless sleep.

_Peter's POV_

The nursery window was closed. Closed, with a capital C. Closed, latched, the whole thing, and Wendy wasn't there. She had been there every night, so naturally, so was he. He watched her sleep at night, watched as her mother always sent her to bed, and watched from the shadows as she crept back to her perch. He cast an eye over the huddle of lost boys, in their usual corner piled up with pillows, and Wendy's empty bed.

He flitted to the next window, then the next and the next, becoming more desperate with each. Her parents room, an empty guest room, a small study. He anxiously zipped round the other side of the house peering through the glass of the windows, and was finally rewarded. Wendy looked worn out, tear trails still fresh on her pale cheeks. He hovered as close as he ever dared get to her fragile body; close enough to almost (but not quite) touch her. He sighed – she was so beautiful, perfect in his eyes... Even as he had watched her grow up, day by day, she only grew more striking. He ached to touch her. Just once.

With a trembling hand, he reached for her, kissing the tip of his finger to her dusky pink lips. The butterfly light touch jerked Wendy into wakefulness, causing her to straighten too quickly, knock into the window sill and tumble into the air. She squeaked as she dropped like a rock through the air, falling towards the ground. She closed her eyes, and felt two strong arms close around her lithe body, catching her mid-fall. Her eyes flashed open and she found herself looking into a pair of blue green eyes which she had never found the equal of. She wrapped her arms instinctively around Peter's neck, holding herself tightly to his body; somewhere in the bad of her mind she registered that he'd grown. He floated them gently down to the ground, the grass cushioning their landing, so it made almost no sound. He set her gently on the ground and stood still holding her waist gently; he was a few inches taller than her now, but still had that boyish charm she adored. His hair still looked like a light brown birds nest, his eyes still glowed like the murky waters around Neverland.

He quirked his signature arrogant smile at her; "Hello Wendy."


	3. A Garden in the Moonlight

Chapter Three – A Happy Reunion

_I do not own any part of the novel 'Peter Pan' by J.M Barrie and the following sequence is entirely imaginary._

A Waiting Game

_Wendy's POV_

"Oh my God!" Wendy screamed, beating her fists on Peter's bare chest. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" She collapsed sobbing into him, the strength tumbling from her like a waterfall torrent.

Peter watched in astonishment as Wendy wept out her heart against his chest. He automatically wrapped his arms around her, holding her as she cried. Whatever he had expected from seeing her again, it wasn't exactly this. "Umm... Wendy?" he asked in puzzlement. "Are you okay?"

Her blue eyes blazed fire as she glared up at him. "Am I okay?" her voice rose in pitch towards the end of her sentence. "You show up after two years and expect everything to be **okay**? If I didn't want to see you so much I'd have killed you by now!"

He smirked at her. "You couldn't kill me if you tried." They half smiled at each other, drinking in the unexpected changes time had made to them.

"Have you grown?" Wendy asked on impulse, running her hands over his broad shoulders. Peter blushed and grumbled like a put out four year old.

"Maybe," he pouted.

Wendy smiled properly, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. "Took you long enough. I thought you'd never come back..."

Peter grinned mischievously, his eyes twinkling. "I promised didn't I? And when has the great Peter Pan ever broken his promises?"

"Two years Peter? I suppose that's no time for you, but it's a long time for me. Even the boys have forgotten."

"Forgotten me?" Peter looked outraged. "I'll run them through!" he declared, drawing his sword and waving it in the air threateningly. Wendy laughed and crossed her arms self consciously over her thin nightgown. She thought how handsome he looked in her garden in the moonlight; she wiggled her toes in the grass and looked up to the stars.

Peter sheathed his sword again and let his eyes wander over Wendy. Her hair looked all silvery in the moonlight, her blue eyes glowed softly and her nightgown clung to her soft curves. Wendy blushed under the close scrutiny, fluttering her thick lashes nervously.

He lifted one of her hands, brushing it across his lips as he bowed formally. "Beautiful, Wendy Lady." The girl in question blushed even more deeply and smiled widely. She dipped a graceful curtsy.

"I guess some things never change," she murmured, fingering the acorn on the chair around her neck.

"You still wear it," Peter said, surprised, closing the distance between them to touch his gift to her when they'd first met.

Wendy nodded demurely, silenced by the lack of distance between them. She slowly rose up on her tiptoes, planting a gentle thimble on his lips. She drew back and brushed away a strand of his unruly hair. "My gift to you – a thimble."

He nodded, smiling broadly. "My thimble," he said possessively, watching her lips with eager anticipation. "May I-" Wendy thought he looked nervous, but Peter Pan, nervous? "May I-" he continued, "give you one?"

Wendy's eyes widened in shock, and a gasp slipped over her lips, but she still nodded, tilting her head up to his. Peter leaned in slowly towards her, gently brushing their lips together and shivering at the contact. He pressed their lips together more firmly, tugging her body tightly against his; his hands rested on her waist while her hands entwined themselves in his hair.

"Wendy," he breathed against her perfect lips, which tasted like sugar and strawberries and sunshine. She was sunshine, soft and warm in his arms. She purred like a contented cat, pulling his head down to meet her eager lips again and again. The kisses grew in passion, and soon Wendy's hands were wandering up and down Peter's bare back, tracing patterns of swirls and waves. Peter's own hands stroked lightly up and down her sides, bunching up her thin nightgown between his fingers. His lips left hers to trace her cheek bone and down her jaw, trailing down her swan like neck. Here he lightly bit her skin, leaving a mark which he soothed with his tongue, making her shiver and whine.

They pulled apart, gasping for air. "I thought I'd never see you again," Wendy whispered. "But that hello more than makes up for the time gap."

Peter smirked happily at her, glad to have done a good job. He bowed to her again; "My pleasure Wendy Lady." She cupped his cheek with her palm, which he turned his head into and kissed tenderly.

"Would you fly me back up to my window?" Wendy asked, knowing that someone would hear if she tried to go in the front door.

A hungry look passed over Peter's normally boyish face. "There are a 100 places I'd like to fly you and your window isn't one of them."

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Please," she said, fluttering her eyelashes. "Pretty please?"

Peter gave in, sweeping her into his arms bridal style. They flew silently back up to her room, and Peter set her gently on her bed. She looked confused, adorably so. Peter shrugged. "While you look beautiful sleeping at the window, even I can guess you might find the bed more comfortable."

She giggled, barely suppressing a yawn. "I have to go," Peter murmured, smiling cheekily at her. "Dream of me," he whispered into her ear, before flying off towards the window.

"Peter-" Wendy called from her bed. He stopped and turned, gazing at the blond with curiosity. "If you don't come back tomorrow night, I'll find you and whip some sense into you."

Peter laughed as he zipped out the window, shaking his head. She may not have known it, but he had been with her all night every night.


	4. Heartbreaking reality

Chapter Three – A Happy Reunion

_I do not own any part of the novel 'Peter Pan' by J.M Barrie and the following sequence is entirely imaginary._

A Waiting Game

_Wendy's POV_

There simply wasn't enough to eat at breakfast; only eggs, bacon, ham, cheese, fruit, salmon, nuts and toast. Wendy's plate was fuller than anyone else could remember - she ate inelegantly as though woken from a coma to remember she hadn't eaten in years. Her hair was uncombed and tumbled wildly over her shoulders, her robe thick and heavy. Beneath the table, she still wore her bedroom slippers. The boys watched in astonishment as she ate like a woman starved. Her lips were stretched in a continual smile, her eyes were warm. Father and Mother weren't up yet.

"What's up with you Wendy?" John looked disapproving. He raised one eyebrow, and rested his chin on his hand.

"I had a visitor," she said cryptically, smiling uncontrollably and winding a strand of hair around her finger.

"Who was it Wendy?" Michael asked, curious.

"An old friend," she practically glowed. "You all know him," she addressed the whole table. "Last night, Peter came back."

The boys looked puzzled. "Peter... Peter who? I don't recall you've had a gentleman caller called Peter, Wendy..." Curly questioned, scratching his head and wracking his brains.

She rolled her eyes; "Peter Pan, silly."

There was an eerie silence as the boys glanced among one another. "Surely you haven't completely forgotten?" Anger lent strength to her normally soft, musical voice. "Peter Pan, leader of the lost boys; Captain Hook, his ultimate enemy; Tinkerbelle, the fairy; Neverland, his home."

Blank stares.

Her temper was beginning to run short, visible in her eyes and vocal tone. "Please remember!"

Mother and father walked in, stately in the morning light and looked kindly upon their breakfasting children. They both smiled as they noted the heaps of food piled onto Wendy's plate, before sitting and starting conversation; to Wendy's irritation, the conversation about Peter was dropped and seemingly forgotten.

The day passed sluggishly, painfully long minutes dragging into long hours. Wendy could find satisfaction and employment in neither sitting still nor being uncommonly active; she paced, she sat, she drummed her nails against tables and desks and armrests. She fidgeted and couldn't sit still, which her parents attributed to all at once regaining her appetite and overeating. As soon as dinner was finished, she practically skipped up to her room, as eager and childlike as ever.

She sang a song without a tune to herself as she sat at her vanity, pulling a comb through her thick hair and watching in the mirror as it sprang back into its loose curls. She ran a finger over Peter's kiss and smiled happily to herself. Darkness had fallen, the stars shone in a cloudless sky – it was a perfect night, and Peter was coming.

Wendy sat elegantly on the window seat, clasping her hands in her lap and trying to look demurely eager. The window was wide open, the curtains fluttering in the breeze... Now, she need only wait.

_Peter's POV_

While Wendy had waited for him, she had slipped off to sleep without knowing he had been there all day. He hovered, watching her, having emerged from the shadows when she had nodded off.

Now, two years on, she was still the most perfect creature he had ever laid eyes on – either here or in Neverland. No fairy had her delicateness and spark for life, no Indian had her bravery and desire for adventure, no mermaid had her mysteriousness and element of unearthliness. In comparison, everyone else appeared to lack something that was entirely her own.

And he couldn't bring himself to spoil her. She was his standard of beauty, kindness and intelligence; something above him. In reality, she always had been. But he had tried to steal her anyway.

For the first time, he considered, was he selfish? To want her. He looked at his hands, his reflection in the mirror; a dirty, arrogant, youth with nothing apart from a promise never to grow up. He turned, and in trying not to cry, couldn't bring himself to look back.

A pity, because if he had, he would have seen a devastated Wendy watching him go with tearful eyes, freshly awoken from sweet dreams to her heartbreaking reality.


	5. Sixteen

Chapter Five – Sixteen

_I do not own any part of the novel 'Peter Pan' by J.M Barrie and the following sequence is entirely imaginary._

_Wendy's POV_

I smiled as Evangeline pointed out her latest crush to me as we strolled down the street, promenading as my mother called it. My arm was linked with the other girl who was extremely pretty – she had hair the colour of mahogany and beautiful hazel eyes I envied. We were about equal height and build, and even I could see we cut a very striking pair.

The boy she glanced at was certainly attractive, if you liked that kind of thing. Tall, broad, dark and brooding. Personally, I preferred sun kissed, windswept and a touch arrogant; I shrugged indifferently. For all that I liked Evangeline, she would have found another boy to obsess over in a week's time... She couldn't exactly be called consistent, and was a little careless about leaving broken hearts all over town.

I felt her slightly tug my arm as she quickened her pace, all the while glancing anxiously at the sky. "Do you think we'll get home before it rains?" I peek up from under our shared parasol and saw dark grey clouds rolling in.

I smiled at Evangeline. "Not a hope," I stated, shaking my head with a smile.

"And this makes you happy?" She exclaimed. "Wendy Darling, you are a strange girl," she said with an affectionate pat on my arm. She looked conflicted, a frown passing over her usually so demure face. "Should we run?"

I unthreaded my arm, handing her the parasol. "Go ahead." She shrugged, having long since become used to my strange ways. I watched her scurry off around the corner, and having glanced around fugitively to ensure no one I knew was watching, bent down and unlaced my boots. I then tied the laces together and tossed them carelessly over my shoulder, hiking up my skirts as I threaded my way through the streets to Kensington Gardens.

The first few raindrops were beginning to fall as I slipped through the gates and into the park proper – the prospect of rain had emptied the place. I wandered around the path by myself, holding my dove grey skirt out of the mud which squelched liberally around my feet. Thunder rumbled in the distance as the heavens opened, rain pouring like one of the Neverland waterfalls. I pulled off my hat, and gave up trying to keep my dress clean; unthinkingly I dropped the hat and the shoes in a pile on the soaking grass and began to run, just for the fun of running. I laughed loudly, throwing my arms out wide as I spun in endless circles, turning my face upwards towards the storm.

Time seemed meaningless – the worry my family would be feeling eclipsed by my need to be free. I spun until the world tilted around me, and before I knew it I was on the ground, panting and allowing the cold and rain to seep into my body, just so I felt something. I closed my eyes and breathed the scent of the earth, the grass, the very air.

I opened my eyes, thinking I should really go home – that was what I'd chosen all those years ago after all – but I barely had time to scream.


	6. The sixth chapter, with too long a title

Chapter Six – What, when, and honestly, no one gives a toss why

I do not own any part of the novel 'Peter Pan' by J.M Barrie and the following sequence is entirely imaginary.

I'm not sure how this chapter will be recieved - I'm experimenting with a slight change in style, so any thoughts, please share.

Wendy's POV

Why is it, that when one wakes up in an unknown place, the discovery must always be accompanied by a splitting headache? I felt as though I had been trampled by a horse – no, a whole herd of horses. I touched my hand to my head with a grimace, glad to see there was no blood on my fingertips. I sighed, sitting up, and crossing my arms across my chest. I wasn't frightened – though I probably should have been – no, I was angry.

Glancing round, I took in my surroundings; the room was really quite pretty, I supposed. The walls were cream with a walnut trim; the curtains were emerald green and there was a matching rug on the wooden floor; the furniture was made of expensive looking wood, finely varnished; a settee, chair, desk, bed and side table with a pitcher and bowl set on it.

I was sitting on the bed, which had a hand knitted comforter on it. I chewed nervously on my lip. In hindsight, perhaps it had been silly to walk off alone in a rain storm, especially when no one knew where I was. I hopped off the bed and was forced to grab hold of the side table as the world spun. Once this had stopped, I made my way cautiously toward the door, trying the knob, however vain I was confident the attempt would proved.

There was a click, and the door swung open.

_Author ~ the following few hours are unimportant to the overall story, and so to save your time and my energy, I thought I would merely summarise; _

_ Wendy proceeds down an unexceptional corridor. She then tiptoes down an unexceptional flight of stairs, cringing as she steps on that one step that predictably creaks over-loudly. The house is neither large, nor small, she discovers on exploration – it is nicely decorated, but not extravagant and there are no people around. Like any predictable heroine in a love story, she does not think to _

_1 - Open the front door and run, screaming for help_

_2 - Try any of the windows to see if they are unlocked, and could therefore be an escape route_

_3 - Look for incriminating evidence about whoever took her_

_Or even_

_4 - Sit down and fall into hysterics._

_But then again, I suppose it is a fair comment that Wendy Darling is not an ordinary heroine._

_ To conclude, she wastes hours exploring, wondering where she is, why she's there, ect, and generally being a bit of a dim girl._

_ I suppose this that's the que for the handsome, brave hero to save her, but where's the fun in that?_


	7. Communication problems

Chapter Seven – The hero hasn't even realised his heroine is in trouble.

_I do not own any part of the novel 'Peter Pan' by J.M Barrie and the following sequence is entirely imaginary._

_Author ~ While our heroine gives us a convincing performance of being a silly, yet likeable, girl, our hero hasn't even realised she missing. Bit of an 'oops' on his part in my opinion, but hey, nobody's perfect..._

_No, our hero is too busy having adventures in Neverland, and hasn't even got the classic instinctive feeling that the girl he loves is in danger yet. Now, perhaps these means he leaves a lot to be desired, but surely if every hero was the same, this tale would be entirely predictable and unworthy of readership. And no, not even fate would deem it worth of intervention..._

_So isn't it lucky that Wendy has one of those typically loving but incredibly wet friends._

_Evangeline's POV_

I stared out the window, tracing raindrops with my fingers and hoping Wendy had got home before the rain. I had barely made it, and wondered if she had got completely soaked.

"Papa," I called, seeing his silhouette pass the doorway. "May I call and see if Wendy got home before the rain?" He nodded, so I pushed myself to my feet and hurried towards his study – I picked up the new telephone (so shiny and luxurious) and dialled with slight trepidation.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Darling speaking; who is calling please?"

"Miss Evangeline Richmond sir, and I was calling to ask if I may speak to Miss Darling?"

There was a somewhat ominous silence.

"I understood she was with you Miss Richmond."

"No... We parted to return home separately when it began to drizzle."

Another silence.

"So, she's not with you."

"And she's not with you... Then, where is she?"


End file.
